


no one left to mourn for me

by thatsparrow



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Who Dies in Canon Lives but it Doesn't Fix Things, F/M, Time Loop, Trapped Between Life And Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsparrow/pseuds/thatsparrow
Summary: "Jesus, Daniel, get up." Charity's voice is cutting, stings nearly as sharp as the glare through the window when she yanks back the curtain. "Never mind that your parents will murder us if we're not there—literally—but you'd think you could at least sober up for your own brother's wedding."
Relationships: Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	no one left to mourn for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jungle_ride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/gifts).



> title from "leslie anne levine" by the decemberists

"Jesus, Daniel, get up." Charity's voice is cutting, stings nearly as sharp as the glare through the window when she yanks back the curtain. Like salt in a wound, or lemon juice in a wound, or salt then lemon juice in a wound—no, that's how tequila shots work? Lime juice? Fuck, Daniel is entirely too hungover to remember or care or give a shit. He rolls away from the light, groaning into the pillow, and even that is loud enough to ache like someone's shoving an ice pick into his ear. Charity either doesn't notice or doesn't care—scratch that, she definitely notices _and_ doesn't care—and keeps talking, arguably louder than before. "Never mind that your parents will murder us if we're not there—literally—but you'd think you could at least sober up for your own brother's wedding."

He can hear her footsteps moving out of the bedroom as he keeps his face pressed into the fabric, trying to ignore the taste in his mouth like something crawled inside it and died there. Knowing him, it was probably just the fifth or sixth glass of whiskey. Knowing his life, the former isn't actually that unlikely. 

After another minute or two of feeling sorry for himself and his taste buds for the layers of scuzz on his tongue, Daniel pushes himself onto his elbows, fumbles for his phone on the dresser to see that it's nearly noon and yeah, fuck, _fuck_ , he does have to get up because—even for the fuck-up that he is—he's not enough of a bastard to miss his baby brother's wedding, even setting aside that Alex is the only branch on the whole rotten fucking family tree that he even halfway cares about. Never mind that Daniel still thinks the wedding is a mistake. Never mind that Alex and Grace both deserve better than—

_Grace. Alex. Hide and fucking seek._

"Shit. _Shit_ ," Daniel says, bolting upright and immediately regretting it as the pounding in his head ratchets up from a tremor to a full-blown earthquake. Except he has to get up because, _shit_ —what the fuck is going on? How is he remembering a day that hasn't happened yet? How can he picture the whole fucking day like he's already lived through it? Alex and Grace at the altar. Grace pulling the card. Grace managing to survive his family like a fucking _champ_ until Charity—

His hand goes to his neck, immediate, his fingers sticky with the phantom feel of blood, _his_ blood, of turning slippery as they'd pressed down against where he'd been _shot_. And that couldn't have been a dream, right? Because no dream is that real, no dream hurts that _fucking_ bad, and sure as shit he remembers that part of it, too. Remembers the burn of the bullet punching its way through his skin, the sting of his own hand covering the hollow of the wound, remembers falling to his knees, staining the stupid fucking rug beneath him, remembers _dying_ —

Except now he's here, somehow. Alive, like none of it happened. 

Fuck. He's never actually tried filling an entire bathtub with whiskey and soaking in it to get drunk, but maybe now is the time.

Slowly, Daniel slides out from under the sheets and pulls himself out of the bed, still reeling a little from the one-two combo of whatever exactly he's—dreaming? remembering?—and the horse kick of his hangover. He needs to understand what's happening, and preferably needs someone outside his own head to do that; unfortunately, at the moment, that leaves him exactly one, bottom-shelf option. Fuck him fucking sideways.

Charity is standing in front of her half of the his-and-hers sinks, still in her robe, hair pinned back as she styles her makeup. She's leaning close to the mirror with her eyeliner in hand when Daniel knocks against the doorframe, says, "Hey, Charity—"

" _Fuck_ ," she hisses as her hand slips in surprise. "What, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Daniel snorts. "I'm pretty sure you need to have a heart for that."

"Very funny." In the mirror, he can see her glancing over toward him as she dabs at the now smudged line. "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you about the wedding."

She frowns a little. "Yeah? What about it?"

"Did it—?" Fuck, what exactly is he supposed to say when he isn't even sure what he's trying to ask? _Did it already happen? Didn't we already do this? Do you remember shooting me in the neck? Am I losing my fucking mind?_ Fat fucking chance. Daniel scrubs a hand over his face, his stubble rasping hard against his palm. Charity's expression is caught somewhere between curious and annoyed, one neatly penciled brow arching upward.

"Did what?"

Daniel exhales, settling for the simplest thing he can think of. "The wedding. Are you sure it's today?"

She rolls her eyes. "God, are you so hungover you can't think to check your phone?" She reaches for her own on the countertop, nails clicking against the marble. "Don't you dare fucking drop this," she says, holding it out in his direction as she turns back to the mirror. Her lock screen is a picture of them that he's been cut out of—which, yeah, that basically sums up their joke of a marriage—but Daniel doesn't really care so much about that as he does the date at the top. Stares at it long enough to confirm that, yes, _fuck_ , it is still Saturday—or Saturday again?—and is very much the day of Alex's wedding. The same day he's already lived through, maybe, or the day he just—very vividly dreamed about. Either way, definitely the day he has to keep Alex and Grace from going through with. Again.

 _Fuck_.

—

The front of the house looks as Martha Stewart as he remembers, neat rows of white lawn chairs and clustered arrangements of peach-colored flowers, but Daniel doesn't give it more than a glance before he starts looking for Alex or Grace. Preferably Alex, though, because whenever he's around Grace, she's usually trying to hide an expression like he's some spit-stained toddler she's stuck next to in the middle seat of a cheap flight—a little annoyed, a little exasperated, mostly resigned to the oncoming headache. (Which isn't entirely unfair. He can be a real dick when he means to, and still isn't exactly who you'd want to bring home to mom and dad when he doesn't.)

The crowd out front is mostly friends and family mingling, all dressed up in their Sunday best while the caterers and hired attendants move between them in crisp white uniforms (his mother's orders, certainly)—but then Daniel spots Alex, standing on the far side of the fountain talking to their dad. The old man's hand is sitting heavy on Alex's shoulder, and fuck doesn't Daniel know the weight of that well—fuck if he hasn't lived a good share of his life trying to make sure that Alex never would. Putting on his best _don't talk to me_ smile, Daniel starts heading through the crowd towards them.

"Hey, man, I need to talk to you," he says to Alex after their dad has left to go play family patriarch somewhere else; it's a testament to how puppy-love excited Alex is about today that he's still grinning after having spent any time alone with the old fuck. When he hears Daniel at his elbow, Alex turns, and some of that shine rubs off a little when he sees the worry on Daniel's face.

"What's going on?" Alex asks, frowning a little as Daniel starts walking the two of them inside the house, steering them around the wait staff towards the first empty room he can find. "Daniel, are you okay? You know I'm getting married in like, a half-hour, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Daniel says, working at some approximation of a reassuring smile and meanwhile feeling as jittery as if he's hopped up on caffeine with a side of coke. Fuck, what he wouldn't give to go do exactly that instead of trying to deal with whatever _Twilight Zone_ bullshit he's in the middle of now. "Yeah, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

His frown deepens. "What do you mean? Seriously, Daniel, the fuck's going on?"

"She pulls the card."

Alex's face goes fucking _white_. "What?"

"She pulls the card—Grace, tonight. Hide and fucking seek." Daniel reaches out to put a hand on Alex's shoulder, doesn't realize it's shaking a little until he does. "You have to get out of here, both of you, before it's too late—fuck the ceremony, fuck the ritual, fuck the whole fucking _wedding_. You can't go through with it."

Something shifts in Alex's face when Daniel says that, something unfamiliar and hard-edged. Then it's gone, and it's just Alex's wide-eyed expression looking back at him, all innocence and confusion with a Boy Scout haircut. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but you can't know—"

"Yes, I do. I've—" Daniel exhales a half-laugh, the words already seeming unbelievable to his own ears and he hasn't even said them yet. "Christ, I know how this sounds, but I think I've—lived this day already. Some _Groundhog Day_ bullshit or—fuck, I don't know." Alex's eyebrows are going up and Daniel can practically feel this whole thing getting away from him like it's a tug-of-war rope being pulled from his hands. "You have to trust me on this. I have already been to your wedding, man, the ceremony, the reception. I _saw_ Grace pull the card, listened to them play that stupid fucking song for the countdown—" _Got shot_. Daniel swallows, "—all of it. And then, this morning, I woke up like none of it had happened, but it was too fucking _real_ to be anything else. I promise you, Alex, if you go through with this, Grace is going to pull the card tonight. The only way out is if you two don't get married."

Alex shakes his head slightly; it takes Daniel a moment to realize it isn't shock but denial. "No. I can't."

Daniel frowns. "Can't? What the fuck do you mean 'you can't?'"

"Grace wants to get married. _All_ Grace wants is to get married. How am I supposed to explain this to her? 'Sorry, babe, we have to call off the wedding because if we go through with it, my family thinks they have to sacrifice you to Satan?' She'll think I'm out of my fucking _mind_ , and then she'll leave me—or she'll think I'm being the world's biggest coward about breaking up with her, and then she'll leave me."

Daniel barks out a laugh. "So? Jesus, Alex, at least she'll be alive."

"No," Alex says, still shaking his head. He adjusts his collar, smooths out the line of his tie. "No, I can't. I won't do that to her—"

"Won't do that to her, or won't do that to yourself?"

Alex ignores him. "Besides, this could all be bullshit anyway, right? I mean you're basing this off—what? That you time traveled? Fucking _Groundhog Day_? Come on."

"We've got a special fucking shed for our goat sacrifices. Don't act like time travel is that crazy."

"I'm not losing her based off your hunch, okay? Shit, Daniel, how do you know this isn't some fucking fever dream you had? How much did you have to drink last night, anyway?"

"That's not—"

"I get that you mean well," Alex says, and now it's his turn to put a hand on Daniel's shoulder, to smile at him in that reassuring way like he's the older brother between the two of them. "But trust that I've thought this through, okay? We'll get married, we'll do the whole ritual bullshit, and odds are good that nothing happens and it just becomes some funny story we tell at dinner parties. And even _if_ —God forbid—that she does, and you're right about all this, then—okay, there's clearly some crazy shit happening with you, but that means you already know what's going to happen, right? You can help us out of this, and then we can put the whole mess behind us."

As Alex talks, Daniel watches the way he starts to calm, breathing slowed like he's in one of Charity's bullshit meditation classes, the worry smoothing from his forehead as if the lines have been ironed out. His smile goes flat, polite, whatever's behind his expression as closed off as if a metal gate has been pulled low over a storefront. Something sinks in Daniel's stomach as Alex claps him on the shoulder; fuck, he can't let this happen. _How_ can this be happening?

Daniel shrugs off Alex's hand, watches some of the ease chip away from Alex's polite smile as he does. "That's how it is? You'd rather be a widower than not get married at all?"

Alex's mask lifts for a brief moment, enough for Daniel to see something hard as stone behind it. "No, I'd rather live happily with my _wife_ than let this family's bullshit steal anything else from me. There's always been a chance of her pulling the card, but it's a risk that I'm willing to take."

"Is she?"

"And even if it does, guess what? We'll have you on our side, and I'd put good money on the three of us getting past Mom and Dad and Aunt Helene and Emilie and fucking _Fitch_ any day of the week."

It's uncomfortable to realize that Daniel doesn't quite recognize the person in front of him, like Alex's face is hiding behind one of the twisted fucking masks that gave him nightmares until his late teens. He can't let them go through with it, but the fuck is he supposed to do when Alex is digging his heels in and saying _no_? Should he just say _fuck it_ and talk to Grace on his own?

As if he knows what Daniel is thinking, though, that edge in Alex's eyes sharpens a little more, just a few steps removed from scathing. "It won't work."

Daniel frowns. "What won't?"

"You want to tell her yourself? Dude, she _hates_ you. She never wants to be left alone with you because she's worried you're going to hit on her or get trashed and say something uncomfortable. So if you want to try to sell her on a story about why she can't marry me because our family are fucking Satanists, be my guest, but I'm telling you it won't work."

Fuck, he's right. _Fuck_. "Alex, this is crazy. You can't do this."

Alex takes a step toward him, and there's that hard edge again in his expression, that shadow of anger that's so unfamiliar on Alex's face. "I'm not letting this fucking family take her along with every other goddamn part of my life. We are getting married today, and if shit goes sideways, you can either help us or not. Your call."

And then Alex is turning to walk out of the room, adjusting the cuffs of his tux and smiling wide as he gets ready to play the part of the happy groom again. Watching him go, it occurs to Daniel that there's maybe more of their father in Alex than he'd like to admit. Thinks of daddy dearest shoving a crossbow, then a gun into nine-year-old Daniel's hands, breathing down his neck at the practice range and promising they'd be there all fucking night until Daniel could prove himself useful and reliably hit the target. Sees in Alex now that same sense of resolve, relentless as a fucking bulldozer. Determined to shape the world to their own vision and damn anyone who would stand in the way. Right now, maybe that means him. In a way, maybe it means Grace, too.

Alex is right, though, that Daniel doesn't stand a snowball's chance of convincing Grace if he tries to talk to her himself, which leaves his already-short list of options grown even shorter. For now, he'll play it safe. Quiet. Wait to see how this all plays out before figuring his next move. Who knows, maybe Grace won't even pull the card, and they can all get through the rest of today with no more than their usual level of bullshit and fuckery (which feels like a delusion as soon as Daniel thinks it, but he's practiced enough at lying to himself that for a moment it almost sounds convincing.) If she does, though, then none of the fucking pussyfooting he'd done the first time around. This time, he's helping them both out of the house no matter what, will pay whatever it costs to buy them their own version of happy-ever-after. Even if it does mean the end of the family—fuck, it's not like any of them deserve any better.

As Daniel runs a hand through his hair, works at his own effort of an everything-is-fine smile, he thinks of the way Alex's face had hardened at the suggestion of calling off the wedding, the flint-sharp edge in his eyes, and wonders if, maybe, he needs to include his brother in that list, too.

—

For Daniel, this day has already felt like one fucked-up exercise in deja vu, but maybe the most unsettling double-take is watching Grace walk down the aisle again. Her dress is still pristine instead of bloodstained and half-shredded around the hem, and she's smiling like someone out of a Hallmark movie instead of the Grace he'd seen last, turned desperate and half-feral by the fucking gauntlet of his family. She's polite but distant to him when he offers his congratulations, which tracks with what he'd already figured of her opinion of him and Alex's blunt, unflattering assessment. Further proof that she probably would have told him to _fuck off_ if he'd tried telling her the truth, but that doesn't do much to ease the feeling of guilt that's hanging around his shoulders like a cloud of too-heavy cologne, cloying enough that it seems like everyone in a ten-foot radius can sense it.

Last time, he'd been too drunk to remember much of the reception, but this time he goes easy, two fingers of whiskey instead of four, sips slowly enough to keep himself mostly clear-headed. (A better man would just order club soda instead, but no one has ever accused Daniel of being a better man, and he's still got about four hours to kill with his family before showtime anyway.) Charity seems to notice, though. She sidles up to him at some point during the first dance and nods at his half-empty glass, still only his second of the night. "I've never seen you go this slow before. What—was today finally the wake-up call you needed to realize that you're an alcoholic?"

"I already know I'm an alcoholic." Daniel takes another slow sip, shrugs. "Maybe I just want to be sober enough to remember most of my brother's wedding."

Charity smiles behind the rim of her champagne flute, sharp enough to sting if he cared enough to feel it. "That'd certainly be more than you remembered of ours."

Which, yeah, fair—but it's not like whatever feelings had been between them—definitely not _love_ , barely even _like_ —weren't already starting to fade by the time they tied the knot. In his paper-thin defense, he'd barely wanted to get married, anyway. His mom wanted a wedding, his dad wanted a grandson that didn't share any of Fitch's genetic material, and Charity was cold-blooded enough that he hadn't felt quite so guilty about bringing her into this. Smart and razor-edged enough that he figured he could continue putting up with her if she made it through the whole thing unscathed, too.

He hadn't realized she'd been keeping such a close eye on him tonight, though. That could be a problem later, particularly when he'll already have Aunt Helene breathing down his neck and his dad looking at him sideways like he doesn't trust Daniel's backbone not to give out. Charity looks over at Alex and Grace, then leans in closer to Daniel, lowering her voice. "What do you think will happen tonight?"

"Are you asking me if I think we're going to commit a ritualistic sacrifice of my new sister-in-law?" With the way Charity is watching him carefully, the almost hungry edge in her smile, Daniel gives in, throws back the rest of his drink and swallows around the sting. "No fucking idea."

On the dance floor, Alex twirls Grace under his arm, the hem of her dress fluttering around her feet where she's still wearing her delicate heels instead of the ratty yellow Converse she must have changed into after the start of the game. She's grinning from ear to ear as Alex pulls her close, all sunshine radiance and unsullied happiness and what the fuck is Alex thinking by letting her go through with this? How can he let her get dragged down into the Le Domas muck when there's a chance for her to get away with her hands clean? Alex's hand is steady on her waist as he dips her low for the song's finale, smiling down at her like he doesn't know what's in store for tonight, like he doesn't know she'll be running for her life in a few hours.

Fuck it, he needs another drink.

—

She pulls the card.

She pulls the card, she pulls the card, _she pulls the card_ , and Daniel is done pretending that this is anything other than the same day looped on repeat. He'd held out hope though, fragile and pathetic as it was, up until the moment she actually says it out loud, turns the card around to show the table. Everyone tenses slightly, Charity's hand moving to his thigh and squeezing sharply, and meanwhile Grace still smiling with well-meaning humor and polite confusion because she still thinks this is just a game.

The song is worse the second time, as is the weight of the gun this dad puts in his hands, that familiar paternal expression of _don't fuck this up, son_. Daniel works at keeping his expression steady as he slings the strap onto his shoulder, hating that there was a part of him that was willing to play along before, to follow his family along into the madness—wasn't bought-in enough to actually pull the trigger himself, but spent long enough doing nothing or not saying _no_ that he's not sure there's a difference. Now, though, he has a chance to be a better man than he was before—even if that bar is low enough to trip over.

It's easy enough to split from his dad early, to make some excuse about "wanting to cover more ground" that his dad takes with a nod and a quick once-over before heading down another hallway with Aunt Helene. And now all he needs is to find Grace, except—except, _shit_ , because the whole idea of the game is not to get caught and so Daniel doesn't actually know where the fuck Grace is hiding. He hadn't seen her the night before until she'd come stumbling out of the passage door in front of him and half his family, all deer in the headlights. Shit, and it's early enough in the night that she still doesn't even know what's really happening—but she must have figured out at some point, right? And hadn't Charity said that Alex got away from her out of the game room? So Alex finds Grace, fills her in on the gory details, then sends her down the tunnel to—well, whatever their plan was doesn't matter so much as knowing where she's going to be. Assuming nothing has changed between now and then, it should work to wait for her in the passage, explain that he's on her side, do whatever the fuck he needs to do to get her out of the house—

A gunshot. Emilie's shriek of delight. Daniel goes still, feels something settle heavy in his chest like his lungs have turned to stone. But then he hears the muffled sounds of an angry back-and-forth, remembers it was the maid Clara who got shot, not Grace, and relief runs through him as immediate as a shot of heroin. She's still alive. He still has a chance to fix this.

—

It's Grace and Alex both in the tunnel, Grace nearly hyperventilating and Alex crouched down in front of her as she laces up her shoes. Her eyes go wide with panic when she sees him, but Daniel holds his hands up in surrender and Alex puts a hand on her knee, saying, "It's okay, he's on our side."

"Sorry about this," Daniel says, clearing his throat. "The whole, you know, _my family trying to murder you_ thing."

She laughs a little, nervous. "Yeah, not really the wedding night I had in mind." She's still a little shaky, her breath coming in stuttered hiccups. _Alex, you fucking bastard_ , Daniel thinks as their eyes meet for a moment, then Alex glances away back to Grace, her hands still trembling a little from adrenaline and fear and fuck knows what else. Hopefully she makes good use of the Le Domas fortune to spring for a top-shelf therapist. Daniel adjusts the gun strap over his shoulder. "So what's the plan?"

"We need to get Grace out of the house," Alex says. "So I'm heading to the security room to handle the locks, and Grace is going to the kitchen to wait until the doors open before running like hell."

"You two should stick together," Daniel says, seeing the way Grace had gone even paler at the idea of them splitting up. "I can take care of the locks. Saves you the trouble of having to regroup later, and I can run interference while you make your getaway."

He unshoulders the gun and passes it to Alex. "Here, you'll need this more than I will." Grace's breathing is still a little unsteady, but slowly evening out, and Daniel will take that. He knows that she can do this, remembers how far she got before when she was mostly on her own, and so she should be golden with Alex at her side. "They'll know something's happening as soon as the cameras turn back on, so be ready to move fast." He puts a hand on Alex's shoulder, gives Grace a nod. "Good luck." And then he's gone.

It's a short trip to the security room, and easy enough once he's inside to flip the requisite switches to get the cameras powered-up. As the monitors flicker to life, he sees the two of them making their way to the kitchen without issue, Alex leading the way and saving them both the side-trips that Grace had taken last time. Once they're ready, Daniel flips the locks to let them out, and Alex looks up at the camera to give him a brief nod of acknowledgment before he and Grace are moving outside and into the dark, hand-in-hand like some surreal version of picture-perfect newlyweds. Easy, breezy, beautiful. Covergirl. Fuck, he's so fucking tired, but Grace and Alex are alive, and free, and fuck if that isn't worth celebrating.

With the cameras still online, Daniel can see the moment when his mom notices the power is back, followed shortly by his dad and Aunt Helene making their way toward the security room. But Alex and Grace likely aren't out of the literal or figurative woods yet, so Daniel re-locks the outer doors and powers down the security system before pulling an Alex and smashing the whole set-up with a fire extinguisher until it's as fucked-up and useless as Fitch. His dad and Aunt Helene are already down the hall at that point, and so with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, Daniel lounges back in the rolling chair at the desk, wishing for a full glass of fucking anything from the liquor cabinet as his dad shoulders open the door, fuming with all that righteous Le Domas indignation.

" _What_ —" his dad says, turning heart-attack purple with rage, " _—the fuck have you done_?"

"Ended it," Daniel says, feet dragging on the floor as he swivels himself back and forth. "What someone else should have done at any point in the past century."

"No, son." His dad spits out the last word like it's something poisonous. "No, you've just _fucked_ us. Fucked me, fucked your mother—"

"God, please don't say that I just 'fucked my mother.'"

"—fucked your wife, your sister, your _brother_. All of us, fucked." He slumps back against the wall, his grip going slack around the gun as he lets out a shaky exhale. "Jesus Christ, we are all so fucked."

"Not necessarily." At some point, Aunt Helene had entered the room, sly and creeping. Both Daniel and his dad start a little when they see her standing there in the shadows like a fucking B-movie villain.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" his dad asks, running a hand over his mouth.

"Yes, ordinarily the ritual dictates that the new husband or bride be sacrificed, but perhaps it's not about the individual themselves so much as their value to the family. That we must give up something precious so Mr. Le Bail might reward us." Aunt Helene steps forward, the overhead light glinting silver off the edge of the great fucking battleaxe she's holding; it's almost bigger than she is, and the absurdity has Daniel swallowing back a laugh. Aunt Helene continues. "Perhaps in lieu of the new wife, a sacrifice of similar value would be considered sufficient? Not a bride—" her smile turns dark, and the laugh dies in Daniel's throat as a new thread of unease twists in his stomach, "—but a son?"

His dad frowns for a moment, but in thought rather than at the suggestion itself. Panic rises in Daniel's chest as he reaches for his gun—except, no, _shit_ , he'd given that to Alex, hadn't he? And so when his dad turns to him with his own rifle at the ready, with him and Aunt Helene staring at Daniel like they're wondering how his blood would look running along the grooves of their custom-order pentagram table, there's nothing for Daniel to do but sit there with his dick in his hand and wonder if he maybe hadn't always known that his dad would cut him open to the bone if pushed to it. 

He and Aunt Helene trade a few more thoughts back-and-forth, continue to play with the logic of the thing, but Daniel barely hears them; he could do without knowing the particulars of the conversation over whether or not he gets ritually sacrificed for the sake of his family's wealth. He barely sees it when his dad whips the end of the rifle around, only briefly feels the bright burst of pain as it clocks his temple, and sure as shit isn't aware of falling back into the chair, unconscious, before his dad and Aunt Helene begin the slow process of half-carrying, half-dragging him back to the game room. He misses the scathing look that Charity gives him when he's hauled onto the table (not that he would have expected anything else) and he misses the back-and-forth between his mom and dad about whether they're actually going through with it (which maybe isn't a bad thing, that he doesn't hear how brief the debate really is.)

The next thing that Daniel feels is a dull ache in his temple and a sharp blow to his jaw as his dad backhands him, knocks him around until Daniel is blinking his eyes open through the deep haze of unconsciousness that he usually associates with heavy drinking and heavier hangovers. And then he's waking up on the table, arms and legs spread-eagled, tape over his mouth, looking up at his dad as he starts chanting in Latin, passing the cup around the table while the rest of his family (in only the strictest, most literal sense of the word) watches him with various blends of acceptance, pity, apathy—excitement, maybe? He is upside-down and tied to a fucking table, so it's a little hard to tell. His head is still ringing like—well, like his dad clocked him with a rifle, dragged him down a hall, and strapped him to a table, but Daniel isn't so out of it that he can't appreciate every fucked-up detail of what's happening here; his vision isn't so blurry that he can't see the hellfire glow off the knife's edge that his dad is holding on a bullseye trajectory over Daniel's heart, isn't so deprived of his senses not to understand that, barring some act of God or Satan or whomever-the-fuck-else, he's going to die.

It's a bitter moment of realization, but even so, the only thing that Daniel feels is—hollow. A hollow person in a Daniel-shaped suit who's been running on autopilot for fucking years, who got back into the driver's seat for the first time to do something worthwhile, and now he's going to die for it. Killed by his own fucking family. Sure. Likely this is what he deserves, all that he was ever supposed to get. Maybe, maybe not, but what the fuck does it matter now? He thinks about closing his eyes, but decides to keep them open through the end. He's been asleep for so much of his life, he figures he should at least be awake for this.

"Hail Satan," his dad says, and then the knife comes down.

—

"Jesus, Daniel, get up. Never mind that your parents will murder us if we're not there—literally—but you'd think you could at least sober up for your own brother's wedding."

Daniel bolts upright, inhaling sharply against the remembered feeling of the knife going into his chest. He reaches for the wound, reflexive, but the skin is smooth and unmarked over his heart. Of course it is. Because it's the day of Alex's wedding, and none of that has happened yet. Daniel sinks back against the pillow, ignoring the look of annoyance that Charity is giving him as he tries to catch his breath as, tries to make sense of whatever the fuck is happening to him. As far as Daniel can tell, he's either very dead and is currently stuck in some _Groundhog Day_ version of purgatory, or he's very much _not_ dead, and maybe can't die at all—which would actually also be a sort of purgatory. Or it's not purgatory at all, because sure-as-shit he hasn't done anything in his life to earn any sort of redemption, and so this is his Hell, maybe?

Then again, maybe not, because if he's stuck spending eternity saving Grace from his family, he could think of worse ways to pass the time.

—

Daniel doesn't know how or when it goes wrong, but it does.

He's in the security room checking the monitors, waiting for Alex and Grace to show up in the kitchen to make their getaway, when something about the picture starts to sit a little funny, like he's playing a spot-the-difference game with his own memory. And that's when he pieces together that it's _Grace_ holding the gun this time, which still shouldn't be a problem because they're nearly at the kitchen—but then, _fuck_ , there's a flicker of movement on one of the monitors that hadn't been there before, the silhouette of his mom moving through the halls with her own bow held at the ready. And then—no, fuck, _fuck_ —she's turning into the room, sees Grace and Alex moving to the door, and she's got an arrow aimed at Grace's chest at the same moment Grace gets the rifle up on her shoulder, trained at their mom. 

The monitors don't have sound, but Daniel can see his mom's mouth moving, her head nodding for Alex to join her as the arrow holds steady in Grace's direction, Alex shaking his head slightly in response. In the security room, Daniel finishes the sequence to unlock the doors, watches three sets of eyes glance over at the handle when the light clicks off. His mom says something else as Alex moves toward it, but Alex cuts her off, expression turned angry. Before he takes a second step, though, something sets in their mom's face as she suddenly lowers her aim, lets loose a bolt that sinks deep into Grace's side, then calls over her shoulder for the rest of the family. Daniel's heartbeat is punching through his chest as Grace sinks back against the counter, one hand going to the arrow between her ribs, eyes screwed shut in pain as Alex rushes toward her. 

His mom's head is still turned away, so she doesn't see Grace pulling herself upright, settling the gun on her shoulder as she takes aim, her own expression turned flint-sharp as she fires a clean shot through the back of their mom's head. A burst of monochrome blood sprays against the cabinet, turning the wall into a Jackson Pollack as their mom collapses in a heap on the tile. Alex's eyes are wide and unblinking, but Grace is all tough-as-nails determination as she takes a breath, one hand going back to cradle the wound in her side as she turns for the door, gesturing for Alex to come with her. 

She mouths something. Alex blinks.

He's hesitating longer than Daniel is comfortable with, eyes glancing back between Grace and the cut-strings heap of their mom on the ground in a widening pool of blood, but after another word from Grace, he looks away, joining her at the door. Alex gets her arm around his shoulder, half-carrying her from the kitchen while Daniel gets the doors re-locked behind them. Not a moment too soon, either, as the sound of the gunshot has pulled his dad and Aunt Helene to the kitchen to investigate. When they find his mom, his dad slumps down at her side, hands shaking a little as he pulls her into his lap, smooths the hair back from the bullethole in her temple. That's about as much as Daniel wants to see—God forbid he start feeling sorry for the old fuck—so he powers down the security system and wrecks the equipment again, forgetting until after he's done so that now he's trapped in the house with a family that won't hold back from killing him, too.

This time, it's Charity who finds him leaving the security room, who shoots him in the leg and watches with murderous contempt as he falls to the ground, a steady stream of blood staining his pants red from thigh to ankle.

"You fucking coward," she says, all cutting socialite scorn as she waits for the rest of the family to arrive.

And then—well, Daniel would've thought that getting killed twice should've inured him somewhat to the process. Turns out, it still fucking sucks.

—

"Jesus, Daniel, get up—"

The loop changes again, but it happens late enough that Daniel can't do shit to stop it. After Grace ends up with a bolt in her ribs, after she one-shots their mom, after Daniel unlocks the door, Alex gestures for the gun back, and Grace hands it over without argument. Which, sure, she's got a fucking arrow in her side, so likely she'd have trouble with any shot further than fifteen feet anyway.

But then— _fuck_ , Alex is turning the gun back on Grace, his hands steady around the grip as he aims the barrel at her chest. She's holding up her hands, her expression turned confused then panicked as she tries to talk him down, pleads with him to lower the gun. But Alex doesn't, and when Grace tries taking a step for the door, Alex— _fuck_ —fires a fucking warning shot barely six inches from her head. Grace holds fast, her face turning from fearful to fucking _furious_ as the rest of the family converges, drags her kicking and screaming from the room as their dad claps a hand to Alex's shoulder. And meanwhile Daniel is stuck watching from the security room because what the fuck is he supposed to do now? What does he do when it's fucking _Alex_ who's switched sides?

He's low on time and options so he takes the poison route again, not sure how else he's supposed to get Grace away when they're all watching her hungry-eyed, when it's two against six and half of their team is tied to a fucking table. At least hydrochloric acid won't fuck him though, won't change its mind about its allegiance halfway through the night, and so Daniel rushes to get it and spike the wine before it's too late, before anyone starts asking too many questions about where he's been.

He doesn't skimp this time, because fuck his fucking family, right? Fuck it if they live or die. They're collapsing to the ground as he unties Grace from the table, Alex looking at him with horror and wide-eyed betrayal as the acid chews through his insides. But Daniel is unmoved as he gets Grace to her feet and helps her from the house toward the garage; it didn't have to go this way, but Alex made his choice, and so Daniel makes his, too. His family were the ones who'd decided that the loss of Grace's life was equal to saving theirs; they can't complain because he decided to flip the equation. (Doubly so now that they're dead, but Daniel can't bother to scrape the bottom of the barrel to find any measure of regret about that.)

Grace is quiet in the car as they drive for the closest hospital, the wound in her side bandaged up with the glovebox first-aid kit as well as they could manage. Picks some of the dirt and dried blood from her nails and props her shoes up on the dashboard, head tilted against the window as they leave behind the two-lane road for a proper highway.

"Some wedding, right?" she says after a moment, glancing over at Daniel, smiling a little hollow.

"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "I didn't think anything could be worse than Fitch and Emilie's Swarovski-themed one, but—congratulations, I guess?"

She laughs. "Fuck, thanks." Her hands are restless in her lap, her face looking a little gaunt in the flicker of passing headlights. Alex would know what to say to her, but then again, Alex not being here is sort of the crux of the problem. Daniel wonders whether he should suggest turning on the radio when Grace says, quiet, "I can't—" she breaks off, lets out a half-laugh that's sharp and humorless. "I can't believe that Alex—"

"I know," Daniel says. "I didn't expect that, either."

She looks back at her nails. "I guess I didn't know him as well as I thought. Not a great sign for a marriage, right?"

"Don't feel too bad," he says, glancing over at her. "I mean, I'm his brother, and even I didn't see that coming." Shouldn't have even needed to, but Daniel is starting to realize that there's something else at work with this time loop bullshit, something that keeps pushing the chain of events towards a worse outcome. Some _one_ rather, who's name probably ends with _Le Bail_ and starts with—who the fuck knows, actually. Satan? Satan Le Bail? Not that it matters, not like knowing would help him now. Daniel turns on the radio and flips to the first station with music, turning the volume low enough that it fades into the background.

"It still doesn't feel real," Grace says, pulling at the loose threads on her hem. "Any of it. I keep expecting for this all to be some wild dream, like I'm gonna wake up in my apartment and it's still the morning of the wedding."

Daniel laughs a little, reflexive. "Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean." He can see Grace looking at him in his periphery, curious, but he can't make out the particulars of her expression. Is maybe too much of a coward to want to find out.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she says, "but between you and Alex, I can't believe that you're the one with me right now. Fuck, that sounds mean, I just—"

He waves a hand. "You're fine. Trust me, I don't think there's anything you could say about me or my family that wouldn't be well deserved." He pauses, fingers drumming restlessly against the wheel. "For what it's worth, I wish it were Alex here instead of me."

"Me too," Grace says, reflexive, then laughs a little. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. And I guess I don't, actually—not after what just happened." The laugh dies out. She swallows. "Fuck, he really would've killed me, huh."

Daniel doesn't say anything, which is answer enough. Grace nods. "Guess I pegged the two of you wrong. I always figured you were sort of—" she breaks off, shakes her head. "Forget it. Doesn't matter now."

"What, an asshole?" Daniel asks. "It's not like you're wrong. I am an asshole, I'm just—trying to do better, too."

"Is that why you're helping me?"

He glances over at her, then looks away. "I guess. Mostly because it's the right thing to do, and because you don't deserve any of this, fucking sacrifices and pacts with the devil and the rest of it. I don't know if saving you means that the rest of the family dies, but even if it does, fuck it. Fuck _them_. The first time this deal came up, they should've burned it all to the fucking ground."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Aren't you worried about dying?"

Daniel shrugs again. "Honestly? I don't know." He thinks about telling her the rest of it, that he's stuck somewhere between _I don't think I can die_ and _I've lived through this day three times already_ , but decides against it. She's got enough bullshit on her plate without having to handle any of his. "Maybe, I guess. But not so worried that I'd kill someone else to save myself."

"You killed your family to save me."

He looks over at her again, sees the steady way she's looking at him and doesn't know what to do with it. Blinks and breaks away. "Yeah, I did, but fuck them, right?"

The nearest hospital is a small town set-up, a mostly empty lot with two parked ambulances and only a handful of people waiting in the emergency room. They get Grace admitted right away, and a police car arrives not long after, which makes sense given how the two of them looked when they showed up. A bloodstained wedding dress and patched-up puncture wound would likely be cause for alarm anywhere, let alone a town this small. With Grace in surgery, the cops ask to speak to him first, bringing him into a side office where they can work their whole good-cop, bad-cop shtick. Based on his and Grace's getups, they assume that he's the groom, which Daniel is quick to correct, even though that only seems to add to their questions. It's clear they're suspicious of him, which isn't unfair, but Daniel is too worn out to explain the whole, _my family are Satanists_ of it all, so he answers briefly, vaguely, makes excuses about being worried for Grace—which isn't really an excuse so much as the truth—and asks if they can do this later. Not that he even knows if he'll be here come sun-up, not that he knows how any of this _works_. Does he have to die for the timeline to reset? Will he wake up at home no matter what? Why couldn't his family have explained the intricacies of parallel universes when they were busy explaining the best way to sacrifice a goat?

God, he's too tired for all this, and _definitely_ too sober. After the cops finally leave with parting, almost-threats about wanting him to stay in town in case they have more questions, Daniel's too exhausted to do much more than head back to the waiting room, itchy for a drink and anxious for news of Grace. He's pretty sure that the wound in her side isn't fatal, but fuck knows that he won't be able to relax until he hears for sure. 

Near 4:00 AM, a tired-looking doctor in faded teal scrubs comes out to tell him that Grace will need to stay in the hospital for a few days for observation, but that she is— _thank fuck_ —alright. Luckily, the projectile—the doctor gets vague here, had assumed 'gunshot' until seeing the puncture wound itself, and Daniel doesn't know how to explain 'arrow' without making things complicated—avoided any major organs, and that she's sleeping now, but he's welcome to wait in her room, if he wants.

And what the fuck does Daniel want? He wants a drink stiffer than—a good analogy for something stiff. He wants to sleep for a decade. He wants for this to all have been a dream, and to wake up in a world where Grace never pulls the card and he never has to deal with any of this. Except that's not really a solution either, is it? Because then she's roped in with the rest of them, and so what happens when some poor sap of a newlywed finally does pull the card? Sure as shit she won't get caught playing Elmer Fudd with the rest of them, and so would they turn on her, too?

Fuck, he just wants her to be okay. That's all he'd like, really. By now, Daniel has seen too much of her grit, her stubbornness, her white-knuckled persistence not to feel a little attached to her, not to care a little about what happens to her—and fuck, he wants whatever happens to her to be something good. Wants for her never to have met Alex, never to have waded into the quicksand-fast mess of his family. And right now, he does want to be in her hospital room, wants to make sure that she's safe until dawn, when—whatever the fuck is supposed to happen, happens. Or doesn't, hopefully. But how would she feel about him being there? For as well as he feels like he knows her now, as far as she's concerned, he's just Alex's vaguely creepy older brother. Is that really who she'd want to first see when she wakes up? To be reminded so suddenly of all the shit that she's just endured? He's like a bad memento of the whole fucked-up night, and God knows that she deserves better.

So he says thank you to the doctor, but shakes his head. Says that he doesn't want to disturb her and so he'll stay in the waiting room. But here, Daniel caves a little, asks that—if it's alright—someone could let him know when she's awake? The doctor nods, gives him a curious look but doesn't question further, and then heads back into the ICU. Appreciating one of the first moments of peace that he's had since this began, Daniel settles into his seat, tilting his head back against the wall and doing his best to ignore the chill from outside whenever the automatic doors open. Grace is alright, Grace is _alive_ , and so, even if it's just for the moment, Daniel can relax. Jacket pulled tight around him, breathing slowed, he closes his eyes, tries to catch a few minutes of sleep before Grace is awake and they can figure out what to do next. 

—

"Jesus, Daniel, get up̦—"


End file.
